


A Moment You'll Never Remember (and a Knight You'll Never Forget)

by alcoholandregret



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, i don't know why i did this, or really lack thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholandregret/pseuds/alcoholandregret
Summary: The fact of the matter is, leaving behind his friends was hard, and leaving behind one of his closest friends was even harder. It makes sense. That’s probably how everyone handles the situation he’s in.How most people probably don’t handle the situation, however, is leaving said friend on read for months.





	A Moment You'll Never Remember (and a Knight You'll Never Forget)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Hallelujah by Panic! at the Disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJeTUb_J1D0), and it's also the entire reason this fic even exists, so, there's that

Nolan wouldn’t say he misses Reid Duke more than any other teammate, per say, but it’s maybe possibly something he thinks about a little more than he should. He knew the reality of it, okay, he’s not an idiot. Getting drafted, joining the NHL - he was bound to miss his friends. He does miss his friends.

But he really, _really_ feels the loss of Reid in his immediate vicinity.

It’s pretty dumb. He knows this, really. He really likes being a Flyer and he’s made friends in Philadelphia and the fans - for the most part - already love him.

On occasion he remembers the times before the draft lottery, though. He remembers each and every time they talked about it - about Nolan going to Vegas, and they’d had the conversation often.

_“They have good odds, Patty.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“You’ll be stuck with me.”_

_“If they took me first.”_

_“They would. I’d make them.”_

_“Sure, Shmooker.”_

_“Watch me.”_

In the end, New Jersey won the lottery, and Nolan was thankful he never got his hopes up. Then he didn’t go to the Devils anyway. It’s whatever, though. He’s good with it.

Being part of an established team, one with a good chance at being a playoff contender, this is what’s best for him and his career. Still, he wonders what it would be like to have pulled on a Golden Knights jersey. He wonders what it would be like to join Reid as the answer to a trivia question.

Who was the first ever Vegas Golden Knight? Duke.

Who was the first ever Vegas Golden Knight draft pick? Patrick.

Maybe in a different universe.

The fact of the matter is, leaving behind his friends was hard, and leaving behind one of his closest friends was even harder. It makes sense. That’s probably how everyone handles the situation he’s in.

How most people probably _don’t_ handle the situation, however, is leaving said friend on read for months.

Okay, okay, yeah, he knows, that’s a shitty thing to do, but he doesn’t _mean_ to at first, alright?

It started at the draft.

_Congrats, Doc! #2 overall #1 in our hearts_

He was too busy to respond right away, plus there were a lot of similar messages. It wasn’t like that was the only one that ended up lost in a sea of congratulations.

Nolan turned off his Insta comments when things got to be too much.

_Here if you need me_

He did, he really did, but unfortunately he wasn’t actually physically there. Nolan needed that more than words on a screen, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that.

He reached out to Nico instead.

The Flyers, for some reason, didn’t want to simply stick to the basic “upper body injury,” and Nolan wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.

_Hope your face isn’t too messed up, that’d be unfortunate for everyone_

It made him feel a little better, seeing that. But mostly it turned his cheeks a bright(er) red and made his stomach flip. He ignored that, and again, he ignored the text too.

That was maybe the first one he didn’t have an excuse for. The next one he couldn’t explain away easily either. That one happened on the morning of his first real, actual NHL game.

_Good luck tonight! You’ll tear it up_

Even typing out a simple _thanks_ would have taken no time. It would have been easier than anything, but then he’d have to explain himself for not responding to any of the others, so he decided not to.

By that logic, he admits to himself, he’d never end up talking to him again. That terrifies him, but also, he doesn’t know how to stop… stopping? God, he is being horrible.

It takes scoring his first NHL goal against the Preds for Nolan to finally reach out. Well, it takes his first goal and the ridiculous amount of alcohol he ends up consuming in celebration once they get back to Philly. He doesn’t remember the last time he got this drunk, but, then, he doesn’t really remember much of anything right now.

It’s all kind of… blurry around the edges. He likes it.

He sloppily flops onto his couch and nearly melts into it, making a face at the way the motion made the alcohol - what was it again? Vodka? - slosh around in his stomach.

He stares at the ceiling for an indeterminate amount of time - seconds might as well be hours right now, and vice versa - before scrolling through all the grey messages from Reid, the last blue one reading simply _see u tomorrow._

God, he misses him.

“Hello?”

“Whoa,” Nolan whispers into the phone. He hadn’t even meant to call him. Or did he? It was so long ago.

“Patty?”

He starts laughing until it makes him hiccup, and, to Duke’s credit, he stays on the line until it dies down.

“I miss you, Shmooker,” he tries to say, but the ‘shm’ sound is so slurred it hardly tumbles its way out of his mouth.

“I miss you too, Doc.”

“I _really_ -” he rolls off the couch “-ow. I fuckin’ miss you.”

“How much did you drink tonight, Nols?”

“Nols,” Nolan repeats, letting it bounce around in the too-heavy air around him. “Nols.”

“Nolan-”

“So much. Oh my god.”

“Drink some water. Do you have Gatorade?”

“Mhm.”

“Drink that too.”

“Floor’s comfy,” he mutters, pressing his face into the rug.

“Come on, Nolan, go get a drink.”

“You’re so,” he hiccups, and it hurts his chest, “bossy.”

“I’m being bossy because I care and you’re an idiot.”

“I love you,” he sighs, rolling his head so his cheek was on the floor. “S’much.”

“Okay, buddy.”

“Like, I wanna kiss your face and stuff. ‘N hold your hand. They’re nice. You’re nice.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Nols-”

“No, like. Wow? You’re my best friend, best fuckin’ friend. You’re in Vegas and I’m on the other side of the country, and I wish I wasn’t so I could kiss your nose or something.”

“Nolan.”

“Jus’ love you,” he says, but he isn’t sure how much of it is actually _words_ because it was mostly an exhale. It’s really hitting him how downright _exhausted_ he is.

“Patty-”

“I’m tired. G’night Shmooooker.”

He never actually hangs up, but he does fall asleep.

Waking up on the floor with his phone stuck to his face and what has to be the biggest headache he’s had in his life came as a pretty big surprise, given that the last thing he could actually mostly clearly remember was someone suggesting he take shots. He vaguely remembers giving an honest effort to fight that, except for the fact that that’s probably just his brain trying to make him feel better.

Speaking of brains and feeling better, he really fucking needs some Tylenol. God.

He got home somehow. He assumes it was Ghost. He’ll have to ask later.

It’s only after he makes his way to his fridge to get some Gatorade that it occurs to him the most likely reason he’d woken the way he did - rather, why he’d woken with his phone where it was. He very nearly drops the bottle.

A phone call. He’d made - or answered - a phone call. Neither of those things are particularly good.

He downs four Ibuprofen and walks back over to where he’d left his phone on the floor, slowly, almost like he was approaching a wild animal that could very easily tear him to shreds. A thousand thoughts go through his mind as to who he could have called and what he would have talked about, but he can’t actually grasp any real shred of a memory.

As it turns out, he doesn’t even need to unlock his phone to see who he’d called, a message notification reading _Hey Nols call me when you wake up_ from Reid staring at him from the lockscreen.

That’s… Less than ideal. In every way imaginable.

No matter how curious he is about it, he’d really rather not find out. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself for the past couple months, he doesn’t want to know what he said last night, he doesn’t want to try to come up with an explanation for whatever it was, and he most definitely doesn’t want to talk to Duke.

He really fucking wants to talk to Duke.

He doesn’t.

At the end of November, before the game against the Penguins, he gets another text.

_Good luck. Big night_

Yeah, it is. Again, all he needs to do is type out six letters - _thanks_ \- and hit send. That’s it. Simple. Easy. A piece of cake. Speaking of cake, he should eat before the game, right? Must be lunch time. He can’t answer, he’s gotta make his lunch.

Nolan knows it’s a shit excuse. He can’t help himself.

The season goes on, and on, and it’s getting harder to bear how much he misses his best friend, well, he doesn’t think he gets to call him that anymore. At this point, he knows it’s his own goddamn fault. Reid has made every attempt to reach out to him, and he won’t do it. He’s talked to his other friends from Brandon from time to time, and it’s enough. Talking to him wouldn’t cover how much he misses him entirely, but it sure would fucking help.

He’s just in too deep, now. Dug his own grave, made his own bed, all those things. It’s the way it is, and he has to be stuck without him.

He wishes he lived in the universe where the Golden Knights drafted him. He wishes he lived in the universe where he gets to have Shmooker by his side all the time, _all the time._ In Vegas, nonetheless, where they could shape their own future - make history. Together. Be the answer to trivia questions. Just, everything. He loves Philly, loves his teammates, but he can’t help but be a little selfish and ask for that.

He doesn’t live in that universe, though. He lives in this one, and all he’s doing is screwing it up.

_Happy new year, Doc. Hope it brings good things_

It’s not a happy new year, it’s not going to bring him good things, and Nolan is most definitely tipsy and bitter and wishing he got to kiss Reid at midnight.

Whatever, they play the Penguins again the next day, so he needs to focus on that.

They lose. Bad. His year is off to a pretty great start.

It’s starting to get to him, the whole situation. It’s making talking to any of his other friends from juniors feel wrong, so he stops doing that too, and then his teammates don’t fill that loss of familiarity in the right way, so he kind of isolates himself from them too. They notice, of course, he knows they do, but they don’t mention it. He’s thankful for it in some ways, but it also kind of fucking sucks.

They finally play the Devils a little longer than a week after the loss to the Penguins, and the media is milking the first and second overall ‘rivalry’ for all they can, but Nolan is just so, so thankful to see Nico. He’s pulled into a hug the moment they see each other after the game - a tough defeat on his part, but this makes it infinitely better.

“Hey, Hisch.”

“Hey, Patty.”

They stand there and talk for a minute, and Giroux walks past him, pausing to pat his shoulder with a look on his face that Nolan thinks probably means ‘thank god you’re talking to someone’ or something. Like, he looks relieved, and Nolan hates himself for putting his teammates through that. Claude walks away, and Nolan sighs heavily.

“What’s going on?” Nico asks, gently grabbing his elbow. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, finally tired of keeping it all on lockdown. He can trust Nico, he knows that. “Long story.”

The moment they walk into Nico and Bratt’s place they make their way to Nico’s room, shutting the door behind them.

Nico sits on his bed and holds his arms out, and Nolan sits next to him, letting himself get wrapped up in the comfort of his friend. They just sit like that for a moment, and Nolan starts to spill, unprompted.

“I’ve been ignoring someone fucking important to me for, like, seven months. I hate it and I want to stop but I _can’t_ stop, because it’s been so _long_ and I’d have to explain myself, and I _can’t_ because I don’t know how, other than like ‘sorry I wasn’t responding I’m in love with you and can’t deal with that! It’s fine! Sorry I’m a dick!’ And I can’t talk to like, anyone else, because it all feels _wrong_ , so now I’ve been avoiding my own teammates. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in a week, I think.”

“Oh,” Nico says, quiet.

Nolan takes a couple of deep breaths, and he feels bad for just dumping that all on his friend, but he feels a little better, now.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says and starts petting Nolan’s hair, comforting him the way he did the night before the draft. He’s really thankful for Nico.

They don’t say anything for a while, and he’s starting to calm down even more. It’s nice.

“You said you’re in love with this person?” Nico asks suddenly.

“I-” he swallows “-I guess I did.”

“Are you?”

He hadn’t thought about it. Okay, obviously he’s thought about it, like, a lot. But he’s never even let himself _think_ those words, so much as say them out loud. Until now, apparently. He hadn’t meant to.

“I think so, yeah.”

“You haven’t spoken in months? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Nolan shakes his head, and the lump in his throat won’t stop growing. This fucking sucks. “I don’t _know_ , all I know is I stopped responding and then I couldn’t start again _because_ I didn’t know why I stopped. I did talk to him once, but I was fucking drunk so I don’t remember, and-” he realises what he said mid-sentence, and he freezes. “Oh fuck. No, okay, shit- I-”

He starts pushing at Nico’s side, trying to get away, but his friend grips his shoulders firmly, and he just deflates.

“Nolan.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. You don’t remember calling him, and?”

The panic of accidentally outing himself to Nico was still boiling in his stomach, but the fact that his friend took it in stride helps at least a little bit.

“You’re not- you won’t tell anyone, right?”

“ _No_ , you’re okay, don’t worry,” he moves his hand to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades, and he’s smiling warmly in that Nico way of his, and Nolan feels a little better.

“Okay, okay. Alright,” he mutters, catching his breath. “That’s it, really. I just don’t remember calling him or what we talked about.”

“He didn’t say?”

“He asked me to call him the next morning.”

“And you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

He puts his face in his hands, and he really can’t believe he let himself get to this point. Everything would have been so much easier had he just responded on draft day. But he didn’t, and he didn’t the next time, or the next, or the-

He didn’t.

“This is my fault,” he says, mostly to himself.

“It is,” Nico agrees, and, like, _ow._

“What the fuck.”

“Just talk to him, Nolan. That’s all you can do.”

He knows this. Trust him, he really fucking _knows_ this. He doesn’t want to accept that - _can’t_ accept that.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I know.”

They don’t talk about it anymore after that, just sit in silence until Nico changes the subject to some story about something Hallsy had done on New Years. It’s familiar, but he can’t stop thinking about Reid.

What the fuck else is new.

There’s exactly a week before they play each other again.

Nico asks if he’s texted him yet. He hasn’t. Nico tells him to. He says he will.

There’s a little over a week and a half before they play each other again.

Nico asks if he’s texted him yet. He hasn’t. Nico asks why. He doesn’t know.

“You better talk to him before our next game,” Nico says, arms crossed.

It’s a week and a half away.

They play in Vegas two days before that.

He has to.

“I will,” he promises. He doesn’t have a choice, this time. If he doesn’t talk to him when they’re occupying the same actual physical space again for the first time in forever, then he won’t ever again - he doesn’t _deserve_ to again.

The game against the Coyotes comes and goes too fast, and now he’s stuck getting on the plane with the rest of the team, departing for Vegas. He feels like he’s actually vibrating with anxiety, and he knows he probably is. This is it. It’s now or fucking never - quite literally.

His hands _are_ shaking, as it turns out. He stares at the sea of grey messages for what feels like an eternity, eventually quickly typing out a message and hitting send before he can stop himself.

_Meet me after the game?_

The reply comes immediately.

_Of course_

So, there’s that. He _really_ fucking has to talk to him, now.

Nolan sees him on the other side of the ice the next day, and it’s a whole lot at once. The relief of being in the same place hits him like a freight train at the same time it feels like there had been barbed wire wrapped around his chest a thousand times and it all went away at once. It’s overwhelming, and he’s dizzy, and he has a game to play, thank you very much.

It’s admittedly not his best game, but sue him, there’s a lot going on right now.

He takes his good old time getting changed after the game, because the longer it takes him to do this, the more he can put off the inevitable giant mess he’s about to make worse. It feels like he’s been put in slow motion while the world around him is on fast forward, and breathing is so hard, suddenly.

Evidently over the past few months he’s gotten better at hiding his shit, because no one questions him about it. Well, either that or this is too normal for him for it to be questioned. He’ll go with the first one for his own sanity, thanks.

Nolan shoves his hands as far as they’ll go into his pockets and paces around in the locker room for a second before he finally goes to face his fate.

His fate’s waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall on his phone, and he beams at Nolan the moment he sees him. His heart skips a beat and all he can think about is how he in no way shape or form deserves to have Reid so happy to see him.

“What’s up, Doc?”

“Hey, Shmooker.”

The look on his face shifts at the nickname, but it’s back to normal just as fast. “How have you been?”

“Tired,” he shrugs, “but good,” he lies.

It hangs in the air between them, and everything feels off. It’s that heavy feeling that lingers when you stand outside as the clouds roll in and the static starts crackling in the air just before lightning starts to strike. It’s miserable and Nolan wants to throw up.

He’s waiting for the lightning to strike.

“I’d say we should get something to eat,” Duke says, cutting through the silence, “but I have leftover lasagna at my apartment that’s calling my name.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, it’s calling Nolan’s, too. He could definitely go for some lasagna.

“Sounds good to me.”

The ride to his apartment is so very off. Like, it’s not in how or what they’re talking about - that’s all normal. It feels like they’re in Brandon again, almost, except for every single way in which it doesn’t. Nolan complains about Philadelphia public transit and how he’ll never make sense of the subway map, and Reid talks about the shoulder surgery that Nolan didn’t even know he had, because he’s most definitely the worst friend in the entire world. The conversation is there, and it isn’t as stinted as he would have thought it might be.

They’re not addressing the elephant that’s weighing the car down. He knows they both know it’s there.

They don’t address it when they get to the apartment, or throughout the entire time the oven preheats. They don’t talk about it, and Nolan is starting to buzz with the words he’s leaving unsaid, and it feels like he’s going to burst.

He does, all of the words tumbling out of his mouth the moment his friend shuts the oven door after putting the pan of pasta in.

“I’m sorry I’ve been the worst fucking person in the world. I’m so so sorry I’ve been ignoring you,” he buries his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on the kitchen table he’s sat at. Duke doesn’t say anything, just sets the timer and sits across from him.

It feels like an eternity and a half before Nolan feels him gently grab one of his wrists, lightly tugging on it to get his hands away from his face. Nolan lets it go, bringing the other down with it, but he doesn’t look at his friend.

“I just want to know why,” he says quietly, and his voice sounds broken in a way Nolan had never heard it before, and that hurts more than anything.

“I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Reid sighs. “After you-”

He stops dead in his tracks, and Nolan finally raises his eyes to look at him.

“Do you remember when you called me?” He asks instead of finishing that thought.

Nolan shakes his head. “I remember that I did it. Nothing else.”

“Oh.”

“What did I say?” He’s wanted to know for months, despite how bad he really _didn’t_ want to know. That makes no sense, he knows this, but not much seems to make sense anymore. Not in regard to this.

“Nothing,” he waves a hand dismissively and gets up to go check on the pasta, even though he’d just put it in.

“Shmooker-”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Nols, I-”  he shuts the oven door again, but he doesn’t turn to face him. “Just don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He’s pretty confused, given he can’t actually place where he did something wrong - in this conversation, that is.

“You really don’t remember?”

“I lost about ten hours there, dude, I really don’t remember.”

Reid turns around, leaning against the counter, his arms folded. “You told me you loved me.”

“Oh.” _Oh._ Oh, fuck.

“A whole bunch of other shit too, y’know? Like, you wanted to kiss me and hold my hand kind of shit.”

Nolan puts his face back in his hands.

“So I just don’t get why you didn’t talk to me, unless you were just drunk and didn’t mean that.”

And that- he’s just been given probably the easiest out he’ll ever be given in his life. _Yeah, sorry, Ivan told me I told him the same thing once. Nico too. Guess I just have a habit of doing that, haha! How weird is that?_

“No, I meant it,” he says instead, and it’s muffled from behind his hands.

“What?”

He sighs and lowers his hands, running one through his hair. “I meant it.”

“I don’t-”

“That’s just it. That’s why I wouldn’t talk to you, okay? I love you a whole fucking lot, and the only possible way I could think of to get rid of that was to not talk to you at all. That would make it easier or some shit. It just made everything so much worse.”

It’s everything he’s refused to admit to himself for nearly an entire year at this point, and now it’s out there, hanging in the air between them.

“That’s stupid, Nolan.”

“I know.”

The oven timer goes off, and Reid turns it off, pulling the lasagna out of the oven. It smells really fucking good, but it’s just making Nolan nauseous, honestly. He leaves it on top of the stove to cool down a little.

Nolan watches as he slowly walks back over to the table and takes his seat again.

“What about now?” Reid asks, and the eye contact makes Nolan shift uncomfortably in his seat.

He blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

“How do you feel now?”

“Shitty?” He laughs, bitter - at himself, of course. “Like I’ve made a big fucking mess of everything like always, and-”

“That isn’t what I mean, Nols.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, and then, _oh._ “Yeah. I mean. Yeah. I don’t know that I actually _can_ stop loving you. Sorry.”

“Why do you think I kept trying to reach out to you?”

“Because you’re a better person than I am?” That’s the only explanation he’s been able to come up with since this whole thing started. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“Because I missed you, idiot. Then you told me you loved me, and I couldn’t help but think _maybe_ something would actually happen there. So I asked you to call me when you were sober, just so I knew. Then I didn’t hear from you until yesterday.”

“Sorry.”

“I know.”

“I fucked up.”

“I know,” he nods. “But, Nolan.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

That throws Nolan for a loop, and then another one, and another, and he’s pretty sure everything is spinning even though it feels like the earth stopped doing just that. The garbled “ _what_ ” just barely escapes his mouth, and he’s still sitting but he needs to grip the end of the table for support.

“I love you too,” he repeats, and it doesn’t do anything but bounce around in Nolan’s brain. He needs a nap.

“I don’t-”

“How else am I supposed to say it?”

Nolan just stares down at his hands, trying to let it all sink in, but he can’t find his footing. That’s fixed when Reid rests a hand on top of his, and something about the contact brings him back to earth.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and a laugh bubbles out of his friend. “What?”

“Okay? Why okay?”

“I’m processing, leave me alone,” he throws back, but he can’t help the smile that’s forming on his face. It’s starting to actually feel real, the situation, the words, all of it. “I’m doing my best.”

“I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” he says honestly.

He doesn’t know where they’re going to go from here, or if they’re going to go anywhere from here. He just knows that he’s going to finally have his best friend back in his life, and if that ends up being all they are, that’s fine. But Reid is smiling at him, and his hand is still on top of Nolan’s and the apartment is warm and the air finally doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating him, so maybe it’s okay to hope that they’ll go somewhere with this. Maybe it’s all actually okay.

They have a whole lot to talk about, but he’s ready now.

The conversation shifts, and it finally feels normal again as they load up their plates with lasagna and eat until there’s none left. This is what Nolan has been missing for so long, and he hates that he missed out on it, but he’s thankful to have it again.

Reid kisses his cheek before he leaves, and Nolan turns bright red, and they both laugh at him, and it’s good.

There’s a day and a half before he and Nico play each other again.

Nico asks if he talked to him. Nolan says he has. Nico gives him a hug and demands to know how it went. Nolan says him he’ll tell him later.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Good luck_

He smiles at the message, then, finally,

_Thanks_

**Author's Note:**

> sometime in september or october my idiot brain thought that the lyric 'a moment you'll never remember and a night you'll never forget' would make for a great vgk fic title and I jokingly told my friend that I would write this
> 
> so I wrote it all in one go several months later, because that's a thing people do
> 
> also re: the nicknames and shit - don't remember where I saw it but I remember seeing somewhere that Reid calls Nolan Doctor Pat, and when vgk signed him Nolan tweeted @ Reid "congrats shmooker!!!!" also I remember an interview with Reid where he said that the two of them talked about the possibility of ending up in vegas together and I really wish I remember where I heard it. this was all so long ago. it's 4am and I'm tired
> 
> catch me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/alcoholnregret) and [tumblr](http://www.sidnate.tumblr.com)


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